


Beach Boys

by chatcolat



Series: Beach Boys [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Surfer AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 02:03:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10323011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatcolat/pseuds/chatcolat
Summary: Where Damen Akielos is the hottest surfer hunk on the beach and Laurent Vere is the young marine biologist who is definitely not in love with him.





	1. Typhoon Laurent

It was on the beach after a typhoon, puddles of sky collected on the damp sand and waves roaring, lions, against the sandbar. The ocean was a monster, dangerous and hungry, and like any proper monster it had the power to pull human beings towards it, begging them, daring them to take a deeper look into it’s jaws. Damen resisted its siren’s call, barely, the waves lapping at his ankles, hungry and desperate. Alone, just him and the ocean – the beach cleared of interlopers, voyeurs. Bits of flotsam scattered about, marring the usually flawless skin of the beach. This place felt even more his at this time, all the tourists and beach bums tucked away safe, waiting out the storm – like the private skin, eyes, body of a lover before sex. Even if the water was off limits to him right now, this was how Damen loved her.

Seagulls cried overhead, playing in the wind, dumb and thoroughly enjoying their lives. Their dances drew his eyes across the sky, to the towering boulders along the far edge of the beach. The beach was a bad place to be right now, but the rocks were a place of death, a passage straight to the underworld. Perched on top of them was a person, form billowing in the wind. 

_Fuck._

Damen did not feel like dealing with this today, but the guilt would weigh on him forever if he watched that person fly with gulls. He started running across the beach, kicking up damp sand behind him as he went.

“Hey!” he shouted, trying to project his voice over the howling wind as he climbed over the rocks, jutting up from the sea to the boardwalk. They didn’t notice. Instead, arms stretched up like wings. _Fuck!_

He made it just in time, his fingers closing around a well padded shoulder, yanking the person back from the edge.

“What the actual _fuck_!?” The person shouted. Close up, he was definitely male – strong jaw, deep voice, sharp Adam’s apple barely visible under his sweater and windbreaker. His eyes were the color of the ocean sky at night, his hair the morning sun. Damen thought of old fishers’ tales his grandfather used to tell, about beautiful people lurking on abandoned shores, inviting you to down in the depths for them. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

Then the man’s knee came up hard, hitting him between the legs before coming down on the instep of his foot. Damen dropped like a rock, barely able to keep his balance on the wet stones.

“As if, Cali scum,” the man - fairy creature - spit.

“Dude,” Damen hissed, trying to keep himself together. “I was trying to help.” 

The man blinked at him, anger burning blue fire in his eyes, only to slowly cool to an unsure flame. “What are you talking about?”

“This is a suicide spot,” Damen explained. “Big rocks, angry water. Are you not trying to kill yourself?”

The mans’ face flushed bright red, capillaries under his fair skin betraying all emotion. “You think I’m trying to _kill myself?_ ” he was shouting to be heard over the wind. “No. No, no, no. Not that at all.”

Damen, still hunched over, mimicked the pose from only a moment before, a bird ready to take flight, the look on his face demanding an explanation.

“Haven’t you ever seen Titanic?” the man snapped harder than his windbreaker in the gale. He flung his arms up again, humming a loud and off key _My Heart Will Go On._ A wave slammed into the rocks behind him.

“Oh,” was the only thing Damen could think of to say. A weight lifted from his chest, but not his crotch.

“Oh!?” This did not placate the man. “You gave me a fucking heart attack, asshole. I almost _did_ fall.”

Damen glared at him. There were many words he wanted to shoot back, like how _asshole_ did indeed describe one of them, but it was definitely not him. His grandfather had been right, evil did lurk on abandon beaches. With effort, he stood up. The man backed away a little, carefully skirting the edge of the rocks. The swell was rising, Damen realized as another wave crashed behind the man. One bad wave and they were both gone, dragged into the ocean to be repeatedly slammed against the unforgiving boulders.

“We need to get off the rocks,” he shouted. Not even assholes deserved to drown in a surge.

“I’m not going to jump!” the man yelled back, still keeping his distance as if he still wasn’t sure whether or not Damen meant him harm. Damen stepped back first, moving away from the edge and the man like he’d seen cowboys do with wild horses in old Western movies. Slowly, carefully. Maybe this man wasn’t some odd fairy creature from his Grandpa’s stories, but he was just as skittish as one.

“One stray wave can pull you over,” he explained.

This only furthered the man’s irritation. “I’m not an idiot!”

“So move!”

The man did so, gingerly, his footing less confident than Damen’s own. Damen debated the likelihood of him slipping and whether or not he would help. When the man did fall, he was all reflex, catching him under the arms and hauling him onto the boardwalk. He was smaller than his layered sweater-jacket led Damen to believe.

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me.”

For a moment, Damen thought the man would bite him. Nikandros, his roommate, always talked about feral customers he had to deal with at the Starbucks he was part-timing at. When envisioning Nikandros’ stories, Damen had always imagined cats the size of people hissing and spitting about cappuccinos and frappe’s. Now he pictures this man.

“Don’t be stupid,” Damen warned. Then, for extra measure, added, “The storm’s not done, so stay off the beach.” He heaved himself up onto the wooden planks and then started to walk away, making his peace with the universe that he had done all he could.

“Like you?” The man shouted back, the wind carrying his voice straight to Damen’s ears. There was an emotion in it he couldn’t quite place.

“I’m not some idiot, yuppie, tourist,” Damen spit back. The man stayed silent as he kept walking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen and Nikandros discuss their mutual hatred of the East Coast and Laurent appears to make a point.

“I’m telling you, these East Coast fuckers are infiltrating in droves,” Nikandros, Damen’s brother every way but genetically, was scowling around the Starbucks he was currently employed at. Nikandros hated Starbucks. He hated coffee. He hated working in the service industry. He hated being talked down to by people who had fewer college degrees than him.

 

“I noticed,” Damen agreed, his mind flicking back to the yuppie on the beach after the storm and then back to the summer sweaters and suits moving in and out of the café. “I thought they all preferred Dunkin’?”

 

“There isn’t one near the office complexes. I blame Silicon Valley,” Nikandros said, wiping down the counter again.

 

“For the lack of Dunkin’?” Damen lifted his tablet to allow him to clean under it, even though his tablet was the only thing to have touched the counter since Nikandros last came by.

 

“What? No. For bringing all these losers. They’re chasing all these digital dreams and corrupting our West Coast vibe,” Nikandros finished cleaning and leaned against the bar top, watching Damen refresh his email for the zillionth time.

 

When nothing came up, Damen sighed and turned to look around at the invaders. There were certainly a lot. It was hard to explain what was different, but it was obvious to any local eye. Something about the way the coordinated colors, outfits, the way clothes hung off their slim bodies. They were like ants following the flow to the sweetest thing. Why did his home have to be that tiny morsel of sugar?

 

The door opened, letting long crisp jeans tucked into polished boots and a bulky sweater over a collared shirt. Nikandros groaned and moved back to the counter. Damen’s eyes followed, glued, watching a train wreck on a cool summers day.

 

It was _him._

 

“How can I help you?” Nikandros asked dully, his voice filling the summer air.

 

“Same as always. Quad, venti, half-caf cap, extra hot.” The nonsense streaming out of his mouth made Damen want to gag. His balls ached from the memory of one of those well covered knees coming into contact with them.

 

“Aren’t you a little warm, dude?” Nikandros asked in the fake surfer accent he affected when he wanted to be rude to tourists.

 

“No,” the man bit back, haughty, cruel. In this light, the height of his cheek bones was more obvious. He had good bone structure.

 

“It’s, like, July. Lighten up,” Nikandros laughed, fake and low. He played this character a little too well.

 

The man said nothing in return, just glared back, arrogant, straight shoulders emanating confidence.

 

_Of course he’s confident_ , Damen chided himself, trying not to fall into this trap again. These starched Ivy brats had been spoon-fed charisma since the were born. He had made this mistake before and it had quite epically ruined his life. Nikandros wearing a Starbucks uniform and making this asshole a coffee was proof of that.

 

“Here you go,” Nikandros smiled, handing it over.

 

The man, who had been frowning the whole time, weighed the coffee gently, not even checking under the lid before he replied, smile sickly sweet, “It’s too heavy.”

 

“What?” Nikandros slipped out of character for a fraction of a second, genuinely surprised.

 

“You've got it wrong, as usual. I ordered a cappuccino, not a latte. You put too much milk in. Make another.”

 

The look that spread across Nikandros’ face was an impressive mask of customer service. Getting rimmed by his boss had really helped improve his temper. “Of course.”

 

As the man waited again, he glanced around the room. Of course his eyes would land on Damen, of course they would widen with recognition. Damen flipped him off and he turned scarlet. When Nikandros handed him back the drink, he did not weigh it and instead fled the scene.

 

“I. Fucking. Can’t. He comes in here every fucking day and pulls this same shit!” Nikandros seethed as he stomped back over and took a seat, something he was most definitely not allowed to do during his shift. When you were born into a world with very few rules, it was hard to learn some as an adult. This was something Damen had been thinking about a lot lately, as he struggled with this law suit, with his own part time job, and with generally navigating life now that he was penniless.

 

“So, these East Coasters,” Damen said with a smile. Nikandros’ grin was of the kind that was usually described as shit-eating.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise by next chapter there will be more development on their relationship. Consider this AU development?
> 
> Also, check out this side fic about Laurent's life in [ California](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10561150/chapters/23331520)


	3. Chapter Three: I swear there's actual surfing in this fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damen tries to blow off some steam out on the waves. Unfortunately, Laurent is also at the beach today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am soooooooooooo sorry this took so long. Since the last chapter was posted I left my job and moved to a country with actual internet access, so I'm gonna try to post more often....
> 
> Keep me motivated over at https://chatcolat.tumblr.com/ pllllllz

“Are you stalking me?” Damen demanded. It was a Saturday morning, Nikandros was at work, and he was getting ready to partake in the only thing good in his life anymore: surfing.

 

Unfortunately, the blond devil from the East Coast was also on the beach that day. He was also on the beach in his pressed slacks and sweater. At least he had the decency to take off the scarf, now hanging from his purse. Unfortunately, it revealed his flower print collared shirt. He wore his frown like Prada.

 

“What are you insinuating?” he responded coolly.

 

“Stalking,” Damen growled. “You’ll use words like ‘insinuating’ in casual conversation, so I know you understand the concept of following someone around against their fucking wishes.”

 

He frowned. “I’m not allowed on the beach still?”

 

“Starbucks? You just happened to go to the one where my best friend works?”

 

“That was an unfortunate meeting,” the man said. He sounded genuine but Damen knew better now than to trust snakes. “I have been going there since I moved to this sunny hellhole, and that was the first time you were there. I would go somewhere else but I like tormenting that barista. Perhaps we could work out a schedule.”

 

Damen fumed. This was not how he wanted to spend his morning. “Is this because I tried to _save you_? Are you punishing me? Kicking me in the balls wasn’t enough?”

 

As seemed to be quite normal, his translucent skin flushed. Damen felt no sympathy. Maybe if he didn’t wear sweaters to the beach his color wouldn’t be so telling.

 

“I kneed you in the balls, it’s really quite different,” he defended.

 

Damen laughed bitterly. “Right. Fuck you, anyways.”

 

“If it’s your fertility you’re worried about, it’s probably not drastically altered, unless you’re often getting hit in the nads, in which case perhaps you should consider your actions more carefully.”

 

Damen thought of pointing out that one of them probably did deserve to get punched in the balls, and it was not him. Instead, he grabbed his surfboard and started walking purposefully towards the beach. He could shake this.

 

The water was cool and inviting on his skin, washing away frustration and easing the tension in his muscles. It wasn’t just this New York piece of shit, it was his current predicament. No money, no career, no nothing. Robbed blind by his ex-girlfriend who eloped with his fucking half brother, stealing the codes for the app he and Nikandros had been building for the past three years. All their hard work, their investments, gone. On top of that, when Kastor got the code a copyright, he slammed them with a lawsuit. They lost everything. No money and the taint of code theft hanging over them. They were pariahs of the tech world.

 

Neither he nor Nikandros had given up. They were trying to fight it, get a court to recognize that they were the ones who had created that marvel of numbers, but that required money, something part time work didn’t give them.

 

Something winning the SoCal Big Wave – the biggest of big international surfing competitions - would give them.

 

Damen paddled out, far off the beach where the waves were ideal. Between the typhoon and his own job as a mail man, he hadn’t been out on the ocean in awhile. The rhythm of the waves against the board soothed him, working its fingers under his skin, easing the stress and anxiety he’d accumulated in the past two weeks. Nothing could calm his new-found anxiety like surfing.

 

The waves were good this afternoon. As a particularly good swell rose out in the ocean, he guided board gently into position. It was a good one – there was a storm out in the pacific headed north, too far away to see, but still sending choice waves crashing into his beach. Damen rose up as it began to unfold underneath him, cresting beautifully, letting him drop off the edge and ride the face of the wave.

 

The waves grew, unseen pressures building up in the water, boiling up, up, up, and over. Barreling. Inside that green room, with the sun refracting off the waves, Damen felt peace. All the pent up emotions finally broke through, breaking through the dam. Release.

 

Damen hit a perfect wave late in the morning, his muscles already aching, but the moment his board pushed into the opening, he felt awake for the first time in months. It was electrifying, every pore in his body opening up to the feel of the wave beneath him. He wanted to ride to completion, but he realized that at his current level of exhaustion, he wouldn’t be able to clear the tunnel before it collapsed, so he pulled out the back end, letting the water rush over him as he dropped back down on his stomach. It was a perfect morning.

 

It was a perfect morning until he got back to the beach and the siren was still there, crouched on the rocks where the tide was high. His sleeves were rolled up, baring pale, well toned arms to the late morning sun. He would probably get sunburned. He looked like he would probably fall in and get crushed on the rocks too. Damen knew he shouldn’t care. Last time caring got his balls kneed.

 

“You’re going to fall in,” he pointed out, walking closer. The man glanced over, his fingers stopping their fiddling with the device in his hand as he glanced at Damen’s form. Damen was used to people admiring his body on the beach, especially when he came off the waves, so he didn’t look away. For once he felt like he had the upper hand.

 

“Occupational hazard,” the man replied, finally peeling his eyes from Damen’s dripping chest.

 

“Occupation?” Damen asked, wondering what could possibly draw a man like this down to the beach in a getup like that.

 

“Marine biologist, dickbag.” The man pulled a small machine from the water. “I’m measuring water toxicity. And I’m not on the beach. The water is too deep here to be classified as a beach. Therefor, I haven’t broken your rule, so fuck off.”

 

Damen didn’t fuck off, instead he moved closer to look at the machine.

 

“You’re a marine biologist?” He had worked with a few on ocean protection campaigns. The app he and Nikandros had designed was made to broadcast ocean conditions, useful for researchers hitting the waves just as much as surfers, so he had chatted with a bunch of them back in the development phase to make it as versatile as possible for the various types of ocean lovers. The man in front of him was not what he was used to.

 

“Yes,” he replied. “Laurent Vere, PhD, by the way.” Laurent held the machine out so Damen could get a better look.

 

“Damen Akielos. There is no way you are old enough to have a PhD.”

 

“Surprise. I’m actually a certified genius. The certificate is framed somewhere in a box back in New York.”

 

“I can’t actually read this,” Damen confessed, gesturing to the meter.

 

Laurent frowned, at the meter though, not at Damen. “In summary: global warming’s a bitch.”

 

Damen nodded, something they could agree on. Laurent didn’t stop there though. He explained how the machine measured water PH, what those numbers meant this close to the shore, and what he would use them for later. Despite his appearance and prickly attitude, when he started talking about the sea, he turned into a different person. Someone softer and easily excited. Laurent who was speaking to the ocean had shining blue eyes and soft blond hair. He had the sort of half smile that showed enough teeth to make you think his bite wouldn’t hurt. Damen wasn’t used to this sort of shark.

 

Watching Laurent catalogue this new reading in a notebook listening to him talk about his research, Damen felt the beginnings of an idea. A year ago, his whole life had been thinking of ways to make the best app for the ocean, monitoring wave and wind conditions, water temperatures, and synching with tagged shark data to keep surfers safe and researchers happy. When Jokaste had run off with the codes and money, all that drive fell away. The beautiful creation he had made was, legally, no longer his to nurture and grow. But here he was, crouching on the rocks while Laurent explained ocean acidification, wondering how to channel this research into something useful.

 

“Can we maybe get coffee together sometime?” Laurent’s question brought him out of his thoughts faster than a wipeout.

 

“What?”

 

“I just meant… I have to get going,” Laurent explained, trying to fall back into his cool, aloof East Coast demeanor while his face reddened. “But if you wanted to learn more about acid levels in the ocean, since, you know, you surf in it.”

 

“I hate coffee,” Damen confessed with his boyish honesty. Laurent’s expression didn’t change, but his face cooled, the redness turning back to snow white skin, his ocean eyes freezing back into glaciers. It hurt, for some reason. The sort of dull ache of frostbite. “But I could maybe do lunch,” he tried. After all, he was used to talking ideas with scientists over lunch.

 

“That’s fine.” It amazed Damen, how fast the scientist who had been so expressive while relating to him the plague that was destroying reefs across the world disappeared and was replaced with this much colder person. “Where should we meet?”

 

“Do you like Greek?”


	4. Blond Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Damen has an unfortunate run-in with his ex-fiance and goes to meet Laurent for lunch.

The northwestern corner of Ios, the one that cozily boarded the best beaches in town, was a neighborhood called Sunset Hill. It was gated, allowing only those rich enough to afford one of the multi-million dollar houses behind gilded iron gates. In case that wasn’t enough of a deterrent, a battalion of full time and extremely well paid security guards manned the gate and regularly patrolled. This was not to say that such show of force was particularly necessary in Ios, but what was the point of having enough money to live in Sunset Hill if you couldn’t pay to keep commoners out?

 

Damen had grown up in Sunset Hill. Nikandros had been his neighbor and they spent more time down on the surfing beaches of central Ios then the private ones. The two of them were back home, fresh from Palo Alto with hot-off-the-press degrees in engineering and computer science.

 

Kastor invited them to a kick-off the summer event on the Sunset Hill Beach. That was where Damen’s life changed. While drunkenly bragging about how he and Nikandros were going to change ocean life, he met Jokaste. Tall, blonde, and very much his type. She was a little older than him, having graduated UC Berkeley with a degree in Political Science two years earlier. Later, Nikandros would remark that a PoliSci degree should have been the first sign of trouble.

 

Their relationship burned hot for the next two years. Everyone thought they would surely get married and so Damen popped the question at a donor gala. She said yes and the next morning he woke up naked in his hotel room with his entire life taken from him.

 

A year later, he only came back to Sunset Hill for one reason: to deliver mail. It was a little shameful, if he was honest. People he had grown up with recognized him, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. He could see his childhood house, the one he got kicked out of for not being able to afford community fees. Kastor owned it now, having bought it at a significantly lower price as a part of a deal with the Sunset Hill Board of Directors in an attempted to keep property values from dropping should Damen have been foreclosed on.

 

Jokaste lived there with him, a perfectly happy housewife running a fashion empire from the comfort of her home. She liked to sit on the porch and watch him deliver mail. Damen liked to flip her off from the safety of his truck.

 

It was a relatively windy morning when Damen found himself stopping in front of his old home, trying to work up the strength to deliver a package from a company called SEX TOYS R US. He could see Jokaste waiting for him on the front porch, so he ducked down and pretended to be looking for something, weighing his options. He could just not deliver it. Then she would call his supervisor and he would lose his job. He could fake an illness. Then he would have to skip a day of work to make it believable and he couldn’t afford that, not with how much he had taken off for surfing this week already.

 

With a sigh, he grabbed the box and stepped out into the beautiful sunshine. Jokaste smiled from the porch.

 

“Good morning, Damianos,” she was one of the few people who called him by his full name. Some how, she had claimed, it was more intimate. Now it felt violating.

 

“Good morning,” he greeted. Maybe not saying her name would give her less power over him. It just made her red smile deepen. She always had a flare for the dramatic. Even lounging on the front porch, she had on lipstick the color of hell and a dress short enough to see the bottom of her butt when she turned around. Damen hated his life.

 

“Enjoying the weather?” she asked playfully. She had done this before. Ordered something online and then tried to invite Damen inside. Jokaste had a limitless number of dresses designed with the purpose of grabbing his attention. A year ago, it had worked. Now Damen knew better.

 

“Yes,” he responded as politely as he could. “Please sign here.”

 

Damen handed her the clipboard and pen, but it refused to write no matter how much she scratched. His stomach sank. He didn’t have another pen, which would mean-

 

“Oh no,” Jokaste said in fake horror. “It seems your pen is broken. Do you have another? Or shall we go inside? I can get one from the study.”

 

The fact that Jokaste and Damen had had sex multiple times in the study was not lost to either of them.

 

“I’ll just wait out here then,” he tried to reason, his mind reeling as he tried to remember any sort of company rule that forbid the entering of houses.

 

“Oh, but it’s so hot out here!” She had mastered the sound of the wealthy suburban seductress.

 

“It’s fine,” he held firm. Jokaste frowned ever so slightly, then turned to walk back into the house. Yes, her dress was very short. And yes, Damen wanted to follow her in, but he knew better.

 

He tried to think of something else, anything but the horrid embarrassment of delivering sex toys to his ex-fiancé and his half-brother at his old house. A flash of blond hair and grumpy blue eyes came to mind. He was supposed to meet Laurent for lunch after this to talk about the app. Last night he told Nikandros he was meeting with an interested party today, intentionally not mentioning it was the east coaster who harassed him regularly at Starbucks. Nikandros suggested he see if the wealthy PhD – as Damen had described him – had any lawyer friends he could connect them with. It couldn’t hurt.

 

“Sorry,” Jokaste apologized as she reemerged from the house and into the sunshine. Thinking of lawyers reminded Damen that she was the reason he needed one. “It’s such a mess in there right now. We’re redecorating.”

 

Damen said nothing and handed her the clipboard again. She signed her name with a flourish.

 

He turned to escape, but not before she called out one more time, “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

 

_Don’t turn, don’t turn, don’t turn._

He turned. “No.”

 

A coy smile tugged at her lips. “It’s-“

 

Damen’s phone cut her off. In order to hear it over the roaring of the truck, he had his ringer set to the loudest volume playing Dani California. Jokaste frowned as he muttered an ‘excuse me’ and pulled it out of his pocket.

 

_Incoming call from Sea Monster._ It was the other blond demon in his life.

 

“Hello?” he answered.

 

“Hello. It’s Dr. Vere,” Laurent said from the other side. “I’m calling to confirm out lunch appointment today in approximately one hour and a half.”

 

Damen felt the urge to laugh. Mostly because he had smiled when Laurent introduced himself as Dr. Vere which made Jokaste’s frown deepen. This was Damen’s first win all day.

 

“Of course. I’m just wrapping up work now. I need to go shower, then I’ll meet you at the restaurant.” Damen kept his words intentionally vague and added a little charm to his voice. Yes, this was a business meeting, but Jokaste didn’t need to know that.

 

“Why are you speaking that way? I do not need to be informed of your bathing habits, thank you,” Laurent snapped back. Damen waved bye to Jokaste, who crossed her arms over her chest, and headed back to his truck. “Though I supposed it is good to hear that you Californians do indeed bathe.”

 

“We do indeed,” Damen said, copying Laurent’s tone.

 

“Also, I don’t know where this restaurant is. I tried googling it but came up with nothing. I will therefor see you at the beach where we met last.” He hung up.

 

Damen started his car, enjoying the sight of Jokaste and her displeasure shrinking in the mirror as he drove away.

* * *

 

“This is an actual Greek restaurant,” Laurent commented two hours later. The look on his face was one of surprise. They were at Damen's favorite place, a block off the boardwalk where tourists tended not to go. It was quiet enough in this part of town that even without the ocean views, you could hear the waves crashing against the rocks and sand. Why Laurent was fixated on the restaurant being Greek and not the beautiful ambiance baffled Damen, but just like on the beach the day before, Laurent’s face wasn’t scrunched up with displeasure, so he let it go. 

 

“Yeah, Nik and I have been coming here for years. I think the owners are his mom’s cousins or something,” Damen explained, waving at some of the familiar wait staff. He didn’t mention that the owners had also been helping him and Nikandros stay afloat the past few months by renting them an apartment for practically nothing.

 

“Who is Nik?” Laurent asked. His eyes had finished their search of the place and finding no flaws to complain about, settled on Damen. “You’ve mentioned him a few times.”

 

Damen smiled wryly as he led them to a table. “The barista at Starbucks.”

 

Laurent paled, a truly miraculous feat for his snowy complexion. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Damen replied. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him we were meeting today.”

 

Laurent scoffed and fiddled with the cutlery on the table. “Like I care what he thinks.”

 

“He’s my business partner, too,” Damen added.

 

Laurent stopped. “Why’s he working at Starbucks then?”

 

Ah. The million dollar question. Damen was not quite ready for this, but he couldn’t ask Laurent to help develop a project that didn’t exist anymore.

 

“Well, we have run into some trouble actually. Our codes and investments were stolen.”

 

He could give details, but saying stolen by his ex-fiance who ran off with his evil half brother sounded a bit too much like a soap opera for any respectable person to continue a business relationship with him.

 

“But you’re getting them back?”

 

“Working on it. It’s hard finding a lawyer to take the case,” he explained, the rejection email he had received earlier that day still floating around inside his head.

 

“I can imagine. Are you broke too?”

 

Based on the few interactions Damen had had with Laurent so far, he felt it was safe to say that Laurent was stuck-up. He reminded Damen of a very specific sort he had met a lot in school – those who were born wealthy and looked down on anyone who wasn’t. To his surprise, however, when Laurent asked after his financial state, it wasn’t malicious, just a curious. He tried not to let it get to him.

 

“In a way of speaking, yes.”

 

“But if you get a lawyer to take this case, you could get your codes back, and this app will happen?”

 

Damen nodded, “Definitely.” If only it were as easy.

 

A waiter came, greeted Damen and took their orders. Laurent was exceedingly formal with anyone who came to interact with them: Nikandros’ cousin, the waiters, a chef who came out to chat with them. Though cold, Laurent remained civil, something Damen hadn’t been expecting. It wasn’t until they were about half way through the meal that Damen realized Laurent was nervous. He kept absently fiddling with the cutlery and nibbling small bites of his foot like an angry rabbit. A cute, angry rabbit.  

 

Also cute was the way Laurent would completely change when he started talking about the ocean. Without any mention of the words in the same sentence, Damen discovered Laurent _loved sharks_. Really and truly loved them. His eyes would get excited when he explained how they swam, how they outlasted multiple mass extinctions, and how awesome it was to swim with them in Hawaii last year.

 

“So you see,” Laurent was concluding, but part of Damen wished he wasn’t. He wanted this dreamy, enthusiastic version of Laurent to stay with him a little longer and wasn’t sure of his own ability to keep him here. “Anything that can perhaps improve relationships between humans and sharks is great for the oceans ecosystem! It’s ridiculous that after surviving multiple mass extinctions that they are being threatened by human interaction.” He had a habit of saying human like it was a dirty word, sticking to his tongue and stopping up the flow of sound from his mouth.

 

As a surfer, Damen did not share Laurent’s love for sharks. In fact, they terrified him just a bit, ever since his friend Jord lost his arm to one when they were kids. He would never forget the chunk missing from his board or the blood in the sand. Jord had slowly faded out of the scene and neither he nor Nik really knew what happened to him.

 

“I think it’s a great idea,” he said anyways. Laurent nodded and nibbled at his sandwich. Damen took a sip of his coke in an attempt to stifle the urge to take his phone out to send a picture to Nikandros.

 

“Do you always wear shorts?” The question came out of nowhere, rushing out of Laurent’s mouth like a wave crashing on the beach.

 

Damen looked down, unsure of why Laurent would take offense. They were khakis. “Usually, yes. Why?”

 

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Laurent asked. His face was taunt, but his eyes still held that look of suspended belief. He wasn’t trying to be rude, he just was.

 

“Why do you always wear sweaters?” Damen asked back. It was the sort of question he didn’t really expect an answer to, but he got one anyways.

 

“Because I like looking professional.”

 

Damen shrugged. “Khaki shorts are business wear in Ios.”

 

Laurent couldn’t hide the look of abhorrence on his face. “ _Shorts are not business wear_.”

 

Damen laughed. “You’re in our house now, you live by our rules.”

 

Nibble. Nibble.

 

Damen was getting ready to bring the conversation back to legal action when Laurent’s phone went off. It played the Imperial March.

 

“Shit!” Laurent hissed. “I have to go. I’ll call you!” He picked up his phone and dashed out of the restaurant before Damen could say another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was longer than I thought it would be.... 
> 
> Come talk to me at https://chatcolat.tumblr.com/


	5. The Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a few more Ios surfers... also Damen is maybe a little bit further gone than he realizes.

It was a hot day and for once both Damen and Nikandros didn’t have work, so naturally they were on the beach, boards in hand. SoCal Big Wave was just under a month away with registration filling up fast. They had taken the week off work for the event and were spending what little free time they had leading up to the event on the waves. They were local favorites. As most Ios beach dwellers would willingly admit, Damianos Akielos and Nikandros Delpha belonged on that beach and seeing it without them on a sunny day was a tragedy.

 

The beach was crowded all afternoon, with beach goers as well as Damen and Nikandros’s usual crew, but that didn’t stop them from having a good time. Makedon was the old guard, the only one left from the generation of surfers Damen had idolized as a boy. Makedon had been there for Damen’s first surf lesson, when he met Nikandros. Pallas was newer. He started surfing in high school, but quickly became one of the best young surfers on the coast. He was in San Diego most of the year for college, but during the summer holiday it was rare to see the beach without him.

 

“And here I was hoping your absence from the beach would mean I had a chance this year,” Pallas complained as they watched the sunset over the water that evening.

 

Nikandros rolled his eyes. “As if. You might be talented, Pallas, but I’m sure Mak would love to tell you the importance of experience.”

 

Makedon snorted from where he was stretched out in the sand, eyes closed. “Don’t drag me into your youthful quarrels. I’m just here for the waves and the sky and the sand.”

 

“So poetic,” Damen teased, a smile consuming his face. Days like this were what he lived for. When Jokaste left him, she said it was because he would always love the surf more than her, and in a way she was right. If she had just left it at that, he would have understood. Sometimes, late at night, he thought about what he could have done differently. Ending things with Jokaste earlier would have been a great idea, but he had been so convinced he could make it work.

 

“Speaking of poetry,” Pallas began. “Damen I hear you’re seeing someone again?”

 

“How are those two things related?” Damen asked at the same time Nikandros exclaimed, “What!?”

 

“I heard from Uncle Achillios that you were at a restaurant in Little Athens with a blond man the other day.”

 

Damen knew right away where the misunderstanding was coming from. He knew he was not in the wrong. But the look on Nikandros’s face as he put two and two together made him feel guilty.

 

“Not the Starbucks guy,” Nikandros seethed through clenched teeth.

 

“It’s not what you think,” Damen sat up, suddenly defensive. “It wasn’t a date. He’s a marine biologist-“

 

“I don’t care if he’s the president of the fucking California Bar, he’s an ass and I can’t believe you took him out to dinner!”

 

“Lunch. It was a business meeting, I swear!”

 

Pallas and Makedon were both laughing. Nikandros started on one of his now-infamous lectures about Damen’s overly trusting attitude and soon enough even Damen was laughing at him. It was clear that Nikandros had a point, after all, it was his fault they were in this mess in the first place. Damen’s over eagerness to trust that people were inherently good had gotten them into trouble again, and Laurent seemed like the ideal next foible. Call him naïve, but a part of Damen wanted to believe that this time it would be different.

 

Laurent was standoffish and cold, but the way he talked about his research, the way he took the news of Damen’s struggles all in stride, made Damen want to believe that he really was different. In fact, the only thing he felt missing from this otherwise perfect day was a long lecture about how sharks really weren’t evil. Even if Damen disagreed.

 

Without meaning to, he felt his eyes drifting towards the rocks up the beach and longing to see that flash of blond hair.

 

.

 

_Received at 5:45am_

_I am so sorry for lunch the other day. A family matter came up and had to be dealt with immediately. If it is at all possible, I would like to schedule another meeting, my treat since I unintentionally left you will the bill. How is this Friday evening at La Chaîne Rouge at 8 o’clock?_

_Sent at 6:45am_

_Sounds good. I’ll see you then._

_._

“What the fuck is this?” Nikandros was standing in the doorway to the kitchen of their shared apartment, one hand on his hip, the other clutching a stuffed animal lion around it’s neck. Instinct made Damen wanted to reach out and save the poor thing.

 

“No clue,” he confessed, honestly, as he finished tying the laces on his running shoes. He had just gotten off work and after a day of sitting in a mail truck, was eager to get a workout in.

 

Nikandros squeezed harder, like he meant to decapitate the lion for offending him. The thing made noise as his hand came into contact with an embedded voice box.

 

_“Sorry for possibly wrecking your fertility,”_ the lion lamented.

Damen’s face fell. _What the actual fuck, Laurent._ He couldn’t say it out loud. Nikandros already hated the man.

 

“It’s that blond, East Coast bastard, isn’t it?” Nikandros was far too clever for his own good. The look on his face said it all. “What the fuck is this?”

 

“He kneed me in the balls when we first met. I think this is supposed to be a peace offering.”

 

“ _He kneed you in the balls and you are going on a date with him!?”_

 

“It’s really not a date,” Damen defended, straightening up and reaching for the poor lion. It was cute, despite it’s unfortunate message.

 

“You are going out to dinner at La Chaîne Rouge! It’s a date,” Nikandros huffed. “Also, how are you going to afford this? Have you forgotten we’re no longer princes with keys to the kingdom, but hated exiles? There’s no way you can show your face there.”

 

Damen sighed and gave Nikandros a pained look. Of course he hadn’t forgotten. He didn’t want to admit that Laurent had offered to pay, or that he had taken a few extra shifts the week before the tournament to be able to afford this. It was networking, he reasoned. There was a purpose to it. If Nikandros hadn’t already met Laurent and decided he hated him, he would understand. After all, it wasn’t like Nikandros solicited lawyers and old contacts when he wasn’t working for legal advice. How was what Damen doing any different?

 

“Sorry,” Nikandros looked away. “Just be careful, okay? You’re too nice a person and people take advantage of you.”

 

Thoughts of Laurent running out on their last date, leaving Damen to foot the bill came to mind. Damen nodded. “This isn’t like last time. I won’t make that mistake again, don’t worry. It’s really just a business meeting, I swear.”

 

I took the lion to his room, studying the stitching in the back for an easy means of removing the voice box. The strings were not tied off and the back split open easily, spilling fluff, a mechanical heart with a speaker, and a small piece of paper.

 

_I wanted to apologize for everything and start this dinner off with a clean slate. I’m looking forward to talking again._

_Yours,_

_LV, Ph.D._

Damen was smiling as he shoved the note and stuffing back into the stuffed animal and tightened the strings again. The voice box got tossed in a desk drawer while the lion was set on top of the desk next to his stack of this years _Surfers Monthly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm growing my fingernails out and now I have to relearn to type wtfffff  
> sorry this took so long! I moved to a new country/continent (again)! and I'm also working on some original stuff so if you, like, are into sibling drama, gays, and quantum mechanics, hmu  
> chatcolat.tumblr.com


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